


World of Light

by vienn_peridot



Series: Orders Up [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (Still new tho), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Other, Picnics, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, robot nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift and Ratchet are taking their time on the way back to the Lost Light.<br/>This is some of what they get up to on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was commissioned by [Notanevilmastermind](http://notanevilmastermind.tumblr.com/)

# ONE

Despite the single-mindedness with which Ratchet had initially hunted Drift down, now actually he’d found the speedster they weren’t exactly hurrying back to the Lost Light. Drift obviously needed to rest and Ratchet himself was quite happy to relax a little, soaking up the blissful peace and quiet that came with _not_ being on a giant trouble magnet masquerading as a spaceship.

It had been several months since together they had put an end to the stone army and thwarted Gigatron’s plans. In that time they had already made several short resupply stops as well a few longer ones to stretch their legs a bit, exploring the local sights and adjusting to some mutually satisfying new developments in their relationship.

All in all it was extremely pleasant and neither really wanted it to end.

So when Drift declared that he needed to go for a _decent_ drive before being cooped up in the small transport sent him barking mad, Ratchet didn’t think anything about it. If he was honest, he was ready to stretch his legs as well. The speedster laid in their course himself and took care of arranging their planetside accommodation, surprising Ratchet with his choices when the curious medic decided to check their itinerary. It wasn’t the closest possible planet that could accommodate them, but it _was_ a cyberform one completely unscathed by war.

A rare jewel in any part of the post-war galaxy and _definitely_ worth the time it would take them to get there.

If the screed of tourism information was to be believed the place was absolutely gorgeous, with large areas of the natural metal-and-crystal terrain left untouched; completely inhospitable to organic life even as it provided a haven for a wide variety of technological and cyber-biological lifeforms. The facilities catered many kinds of mechanical life and they would have no trouble finding places to stay or things to do once they got there.

None of that could really explain _why_ Drift had booked them quite so much time planetside. Ratchet lowered himself into the pilot’s chair with a subtle creak of stressed joints and brought up the ship’s logs alongside the speedster’s cheerful calendar annotated with booking information; double-checking to be sure he had things right.

The shuttle didn’t need any repairs they couldn’t take care of themselves and the amenities available on the planet didn’t seem to fit what he knew of Drift’s tastes. He was still frowning at the display when the swordsmech wandered into the laughably small cockpit, bringing him a cube of bland midgrade flavoured with something to make it slightly more appealing.

“Problem?” Drift asked as he passed the cube to Ratchet. There was something lurking in Drift’s Field he couldn’t quite pick up.

_If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s feeling bashful._

“Just wondering why you want to spend two weeks here.” Ratchet said, tapping the screen with a finger. “Not enough windy roads for you to goof around on.”

Drift twitched and one strong black hand rose to rub at the base of his finials.

“I figure you probably deserved a holiday by now.” Drift said with a shrug. He was making a good show of nonchalance but infrared vision clearly showed a slow flush of heat rising to his faceplates and finials. “How many centuries has it been, if we’re generous and say shore leave counts?”

The question was completely unexpected. Ratchet cycled his optics and looked away, trying to hide own surprise at the answer his memory banks supplied –a number even _he_ would admit was an unhealthily long period of time- and made a desperate attempt to deflect instead of answering properly.

“There’s no time to take a holiday in war, kid.” Ratchet huffed, his Field pulling back to crawl along his plating. “You know that.”

It didn’t work.

“You never even took _shore leave?_ ” Shock and disbelief filled Drift’s voice and Field, erasing that hint of inexplicable shyness as if it had never been.

Ratchet declined to answer, pulling himself up straighter in the chair and squaring his shoulders as he turned his attention back to the navigation console. The speedster pushed himself off the wall and came right up into Ratchet’s personal space, preceded by his Field. The too-gentle brush of that electromagnetic contact sent Ratchet scooting away until the other side of the chair stopped him and Drift’s hands on his frame turned him to look back at the mech he’d come all the way out here to find.

“How long before that?” Drift murmured as his optics searched Ratchet’s face carefully. “Have you _ever_ had a holiday, Ratchet?”

There was concern and the faintest trace of pity in Drift’s gaze, pity which made Ratchet bristle and glare despite the Field surrounding him and the gentle way one deadly black hand held his chin.

“What? I’m _happy_ when I’m working. And it’s not like I could just go swanning off when I knew damn well that people would die if I did.” He snarled, shaking Drift off. “And I _do_ know how to have a good time, thank you very much.”

He regretted the loss of contact when Drift let him go and backed away, hands held clear of his frame as if to appease some dangerous creature. Expecting a platitude about wearing himself out or yet another version of that tired old line about ‘who heals the healer’, Ratchet ruffled his armour and huffed through his vents, not really wanting to fight but prepared to defend himself all the same. Drift surprised him when the swordsmech’s lipplates quirked up in a smile.

“Well, all this means is that you’re _really_ going to be able to enjoy the next few weeks,” Drift declared, his voice and Field filled with cheeriness that felt rather forced. “And maybe even show me a thing or two about having fun Iacon style, _if_ you can dredge up the relevant memory files.”

Ratchet snorted and rolled his optics, anger thrown off-stride by the outrageous waggle of optic ridges that Drift aimed at him.

“I’ve got nothing against teaching you how to relax.” The speedster continued. “Even though I’m a speedster I do know how to go slow.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Searching for a way to change the subject, Ratchet said the first thing that popped into his mind as he stood with a crackle of misaligned spinal struts. “So, you actually took shore leave?”

Ratchet winced internally as Drift tilted his helm, watching him with an unreadable expression as surprise flickered through his Field.

“Yeah.” The speedster said, following as Ratchet left the cockpit. “Well, early on in the war at least. When there were still places to go.”

An uneasy mixture of grief, nostalgia and regret flowed through Ratchet as a surge of disconnected memories of favourite nightclubs and cafes that no longer existed streamed through his processors.

“So what did you do?” The question was equal parts an attempt to pull himself from pointless musing on the past as it was to try to find out more about Drift. Even with all their history the two mechs still didn’t know a great deal about each other.

“Recharged, mostly.” Came the surprising answer. Drift must have felt the disbelief in his Field because he hurried to explain. “I’d get a two-berth room in a hotel with a public oilbath. After soaking the aches out, I’d pile all the bedding onto one berth, shove the other against the door and recharge until empty tank pings woke me up, then I’d refuel. Rinse and repeat as often as I could until my leave was up.”

“That probably what I would have done with myself, if I’d bothered to take leave.” Ratchet admitted, poking playfully at Drift’s with his Field with his own, adding a wordless apology for his surliness that was accepted gracefully. “I hope you’ve got something other than recharging planned for the two weeks you’ve booked for us planetside.”

Deceptively strong arms caught his waist, turning Ratchet and holding him still just long enough for Drift to balance on his toepieces and plant a kiss on the ambulance’s lipplates.

“Trust me, Ratchet.” The speedster purred. “I’ve got it _all_ figured out.”

Ratchet didn’t say anything, happy to return the embrace and glad that he was finally able to do so; that whatever else had happened, he had this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift conceives of a plan and carries it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening: 'Song of the Caged Bird' by Lindsay Stirling and 'The First Twilight' by Deep Forest

# TWO

It was a lovely planet, but in Drift’s opinion the thing that made it truly amazing was seeing it with Ratchet, even though at first he wasn’t sure that the medic was actually enjoying himself. For their first few days Ratchet grumbled through galleries, muttered around museums and was forever _fidgeting_ whenever their itinerary involved sitting still for any length of time.

Whenever Drift asked if something was wrong Ratchet denied that anything was the matter, then went right back to his grumbles and fidgets. This went on for days until the speedster was ready to knock him over the helm and drag the exasperating mech back to their ship and get back on the road, just to get some genuine peace and quiet.

Then it hit him.

Then Drift figured out what was up and the entire situation became utterly hilarious.

It seemed like he’d finally found something that Ratchet couldn’t do.

He didn’t know _how_ to relax, how to put his pedes up and take it easy.

The longer the pair went with nothing to do but indulge in good old-fashioned Rest And Relaxation the more obvious it became. For the first time in their acquaintance the metaphorical shoe was on the other foot and Drift took full advantage of this. He teased Ratchet mercilessly, taking every opportunity to remind the medic to slow down.

He just couldn’t help himself. Watching Ratchet try not to implode from sheer boredom was absolutely one of _the_ funniest things Drift had ever seen and he felt compelled to give the irascible ambulance a taste of his own medicine.

At the same time the it was a bit tragic.

The medic didn’t even seem to know what to _do_ with himself when there wasn’t busywork with which to keep himself occupied. Drift even caught him looking a bit lost at times, perplexity flickering through the medic’s Field in a way that reminded Drift of his slow and often painful adjustment to civilised behaviour in New Crystal City. With that in mind Drift tried to emulate Wing’s sterling example and bit his glossa instead of snapping at Ratchet when the medic’s restlessness _really_ started to annoy him.

Like at the oil pools, for example.

Whenever they were soaking in the oil pools Ratchet’s fidgeting would disturb the surface of the liquid, creating ripples that drew attention to the pair for all the wrong reasons. Drift also liked to immerse himself up to his chin, and an unexpected splash of warm oil over the faceplates was definitely _not_ relaxing. Despite this, they still spent a _lot_ of time soaking; Drift made sure of it. Recently Ratchet’s joints had developed a bad habit of crackling when he bent or straightened. That was _not_ a good sound and even non-Medics like Drift knew that an oilbath was good for the joints.

So they soaked and Drift tried not to growl every time he got splashed.

Drift didn’t think it was all that strange that he hadn’t noticed Ratchet’s inability to relax before now. The Lost Light was a busy ship, especially for medical staff. And since Ratchet found him they’d both been working too hard to even _think_ of slowing down properly, at least not before Drift had made an executive decision regarding this holiday.

After Ratchet pinned Drift down for repairs to the speedster’s his frame –repairs Drift still didn’t think they had been completely necessary; autorepair was handling them _perfectly,_ thank you Dr. Workaholic- they had both gotten immersed in minor repairs to the shuttle as well as seeing how they could distract each other from those non-urgent repairs.

Drift’s systems warmed as he remembered the last time they’d been ‘inspecting the integrity’ of his jerry-rigged repairs and he smiled at nothing in particular, looking forward to when he could get the medic alone and re-enact some of the things they’d done. It wasn’t feasible right now; they were currently wandering through a street market and the speedster didn’t want to be arrested for indecent behaviour.

Their EM Fields were overlapping companionably and every now and then Drift’s pauldron just barely brushing against the medic’s shoulder, the occasional almost-touches doing nothing but make Drift want to feel _more_. Ratchet picked up on the hint of lust threading through EMF and smirked knowingly, deliberately brushing against the speedster’s hip scabbard as he moved ahead, aiming for a booth filled with arcane pieces of equipment, deliberately moving in a way that had Drift wishing furiously that they weren’t in public.

It just wasn’t _fair._ He was _finally_ allowed to touch as much as he wanted and Ratchet was teasing him in public, where Drift couldn’t indulge in the freedom to act on his desires.

_Cunning fragger. I’m going to get him for that later._

It took a massive effort of will for Drift to tear his optics away from the way Ratchet’s relaxed armour exposed tantalising snatches of protoform as the ambulance reached for something interesting. The swordsmech cycled his vents a few times, letting his optics scan the mixed crowd of technological lifeforms in an instinctive search for threats. The sight of a stand of beautifully crafted storage halted his search and nostalgia filled Drift. It reminded him of Wing and New Crystal City and the way they’d always prettied up even the simplest things, like storage containers. He’d thought it was stupid at first, eventually accepting the custom as just another one of those weird things that made the city what it was.

Without making a conscious decision to move Drift found himself wandering over to the stall, wondering if there was any point in getting something that would probably just end up broken. Then one particular container caught his attention. It was a rich golden colour, vaguely oblong in shape with a surface pattern reminiscent of thick woven fibres.

A slow grin spread across Drift’s faceplates as an idea began to take shape in his processors, spawned by the look of that particular container. He accessed the local datanet, gathering information about the city he intended to next take his fidgety medic. The weather report showed blessedly clear skies so Drift purchased the container and stowed it in subspace, beginning a determined search through the market for specific items. If he was going to carry out this mad ploy to get Ratchet to relax then Drift would need supplies.

Ratchet caught up with Drift at a stall filled to overflowing with bright stacks of rolled and folded blankets. Some of the more elaborate items on display were obviously meant to be large rugs for smaller lifeforms, but they made perfectly good blankets for larger mechanoid species like Cybertronians. Drift’s purchases were already safely tucked away in his subspace when the ambulance sauntered up, the Field reaching out for Drift’s filled with fondness the medic was still hesitant to express in public.

_As if dating the Autobot CMO makes me any more of a target than I already am!_

“We’ve got an hour before the train leaves.” Ratchet said, stating the obvious. “Anything else you want to look at or are you done here?”

Drift let his optics sweep over the vibrant, bustling market one more time before shaking his helm, smothering a smile at the way Ratchet visibly sagged with relief. _Apparently_ the ambulance didn’t care for window-shopping unless he was looking for bookfiles or something work-related to tinker with. Side-by-side the two Cybertronians left the market and made their way towards the train station, Fields meshing lightly while Drift refused to tell Ratchet if he’d bought anything.

The train trip was so uneventful Ratchet actually fell asleep sitting up, obviously trusting Drift to watch for danger. Not that there was any; their war was so far away from here that they were just another form of mechanoid life, remarkable only for the weapons Drift carried. This display of trust from the ambulance gladdened Drift more than any of the admittedly awkward confessions of affection he’d received from Ratchet so far. He adjusted his position to provide better support, wrapping an arm around Ratchet when the train began to ascend through a mountainous area and the incline threatened to tip the sleeping mech out of his seat. Given their different builds it was a little uncomfortable and Drift’s arm began to ache long before they got anywhere near their stop. It wasn’t a long journey and even though his shoulder ached fiercely Drift knew he’d miss the weight and warmth of Ratchet against his side when they had to get off the train.

The pair reached their stop several hours before dawn, Drift nudging Ratchet awake and hauling him off the train into streets that were busy despite the early hour, leading the way and following a map he’d downloaded back at the market.

As soon as Ratchet realised Drift wasn’t heading towards accommodation he came fully awake, his attempts to pry details from the speedster becoming less subtle the closer they got to the edge of the clifftop city.

A delighted trill escaped Drift’s vocaliser as he saw that the sky was still clear as he lead the ambulance down towards the seafront. He could feel amusement in Ratchet’s Field as they walked, following Drift along a well-marked path that became a broad set of steps, the staircase switching back on itself several times as it descended the cliff face.

The sound of waves reached Drift’s audials, growing louder as he descended the staircase with a quiet, thoughtful Ratchet in tow. As they moved out of range of the streetlights Drift dropped his optics to the ground and kept them there. Even though his sensors were more than capable of tracking the terrain and calculating where to step, Drift still felt better when he had visual input on the ground beneath his pedes.

It was the very tail-end of night when they reached the bottom of the cliff. The steps ended abruptly in a flat expanse of some metallic substance and Drift looked up to see a pebbly beach spread out before them, the Cybertronians standing on an artificial platform at the bottom of the staircase that was raised about half a step above the current level of the beach. Feedback from his sensors confirmed that the rocky beach was made up of water-worn chunks of metal and assorted silicate crystals. There were supposedly offshore rocks that were mainly crystal, but Drift hadn’t planned on going swimming.

_Maybe Ratchet would like a boat trip?_

The horizon was beginning to lighten as the planet’s rotation brought the system’s star into view, the few stars strong enough to be seen through the city’s light pollution already fading out. Drift glanced over at Ratchet to find the medic standing stiller than the metallic cliff at their backs, optics bright as his Field suddenly relaxed, calmer than Drift had could ever remember feeling when Ratchet was awake.

Scanning the ground carefully, Drift left the ambulance to his daydreams and stepped off the raised platform and moved out onto the pebbly beach, looking for a place to sit. When he found two large rocks that he thought would make a nice seat it he took the rug he’d purchased from subspace, spreading it over both boulders. It looked like someone else had moved the rocks to this spot, rolling them from the pile of boulders at the base of the cliff. Drift silently thanked the mysterious rock-mover as crunching and smashing approached from behind, announcing that Ratchet had followed Drift over. Apparently some of the crystalline beach stones didn’t like having a mech of Ratchet’s mass standing on them and they protested by shattering under his pedes.

“So what’s all this about?” The medic asked, stopping just outside EMF range.

Turning to face the ambulance, Drift smiled and pulled the container he’d bought from subspace and held it out as if it explained everything.

In a way it did, because it bore strong visual resemblance to a woven picnic basket that both of them knew from Earth.

“I thought a picnic breakfast would be nice, before we go find the hotel?” Drift suggested, opening it to show Ratchet the few Cybertronian-friendly snacks he’d been able to find at the market.

Ratchet stared. First at the energon and then at Drift as the sky continued to lighten steadily behind the ambulance. What Drift had assumed to be water was reacting oddly to the increase in light, reflecting less than he thought it should. In the face of Ratchet’s continued silence Drift felt his confidence start to evaporate.

“Um, that’s if you want to.” He said hurriedly, “We don’t _have_ to.”

“A picnic breakfast on the beach,” Ratchet’s voice was devoid of inflection but Drift could feel wonder starting to bloom in his Field as is stretched towards him. “A picnic breakfast on the beach, watching the sunrise.” He crunched another step closer and raised a hand, cupping the side of Drift’s face and stroking the speedster’s cheekpiece with his thumb. “Why, Drift?”

Drift cycled his optics, enjoying the feeling of Ratchet’s hand against his face and the soft brush of his Field as bright colour touched the edge of the horizon behind him. He couldn’t help pressing into the contact, feeling strangely shy as he put off answering for as long as he felt he could get away with.

“Because I wanted to do this with you.” The speedster admitted eventually.

Astonishment flashed across Ratchet’s faceplates and melted into a smile the likes of which Drift had never seen before; surprised and pleased and truly happy, if the brightness of his optics and the sudden blossoming of his EM Field was anything to go by.

“Then let’s park our afts on this fine seat you’ve made before we miss the show.” Ratchet said, delaying just long enough to press a soft-mouthed kiss to Drift’s lipplates before sitting down.

In a daze, Drift followed suit and sat as close to Ratchet as he could get, wedging the storage container somewhat precariously into the rug-covered gap between their boulders where it was constantly in danger of being sent tumbling by a sudden movement or a bump from Drift’s right-hand shortsword. It wasn’t a perfect solution but it was better than putting it on the ground and having to lean down all the time. Somehow they managed to avoid tipping their picnic all over the ground as the planet’s star rose, spreading warm light across the strange milky fluid that comprised the oceans of this world and striking brilliant rainbows from crystalline reefs uncovered by the low tide.

The colours refracted from the crystal reefs painted the beach around the two Cybertronians with vivid colours, dyeing their armour in brilliant, shifting tones that slowly faded to a pastel tint before vanishing entirely as the star cleared the horizon and started to climb unhurriedly into the sky.

It was magnificent, beautiful beyond anything Drift had ever imaged could be possible this side of the Well and he soaked in every astrosecond of the experience, recording it to the securest possible sections of his memory. What made it beyond perfect in his opinion was Ratchet by his side, Field lapping at his all gentle and calm as the ambulance soaked in the glory of the sunrise and the peaceful stillness of early morning.

When the last hint of rainbow colours faded from the beach a burst of shrill chittering from overhead sent Drift on the alert; one hand dropped to the hilt of his unobstructed sword, optics searching for the source of the sounds.

A flock of small cyboid avians streamed overhead, dropping from their cliff-side nests and swooping low over the beach before gaining altitude and disappearing over the ocean. Drift huffed at himself and let go of his sword as fluttering wings cast mesmerising patterns over the smooth metallic and crystal beach-stones. The flickering wing-shadows hypnotised the speedster until Ratchet brought him back to reality, gently nudging a rust stick against Drift’s lipplates.

Dragging his attention back to the present, Drift took the rust stick slowly, sensually, meeting Ratchet’s optics as he carefully licked stray crumbs from red-plated fingers before swallowing his mouthful. The ambulance’s engine revved _hard_ and he seemed to be unable to look away from Drift’s optics, arousal growing in his Field.

“Should we go find that hotel?” Drift suggested, sliding his own Field against Ratchet’s in a blatant invitation.

“I think that would be a good idea.” Ratchet replied as he slid the basket into his subspace and stood so Drift could take care of the blanket.

Heavy pedes crunch-shattered away over the beach as Drift shook the blanket out carefully and tucked it into subspace. When he turned around he nearly yelped with shock when he saw Ratchet standing nearly shin-deep in the opaque surf. The medic’s optics sparkled brightly and he waved, inviting the speedster to join him. Drift forced himself forward, managing to get within a few paces of the point where opaque ocean swells flopped onto tiny pebbles exposed by the tide before he stopped and simply refused to go any further.

“Come on in, Drift.” Ratchet’s glyphs were light and teasing, his smile erasing centuries of stress and fatigue from his faceplates and making Drift's spark spin faster. “The water’s fine.”

“I think I’ll stay over here, _where_ _I can see where I’m putting my feet_.” The speedster said determinedly, actually backing away from a wavelet that approached too close to where he stood.

Still smiling, Ratchet waded out of the sea and shook his pedes off before extending a hand to Drift.

“Come on, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing this I called this planet 'Te Ao Marama' in my head. It's a Maori phrase (also used as a name) that means something like 'the light' or '(the) world (of) light' when translated directly into English.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to the bed.  
> (Yes an actual bed)

# THREE

The hotel wasn't very far but the walk seemed to take eons.

By the time Drift and Ratchet checked in their Fields were intertwined in light foreplay, just barely keeping it appropriate for public. Once they were in the privacy of the elevator this changed, Drift giving in to the desire to touch and encouraging Ratchet to do the same. They stood with forehelms pressed together as black and red digits wandered over smooth plating, stroking and discovering anew, Fields echoing the movement of their hands.

_Somehow_ they made it to the right room without making a public spectacle of themselves, the risk of being caught seeming to rev Ratchet up even as it made the swordsmech uncomfortable. Drift opened the door and almost stumbled as Ratchet pushed him into their room, taking unfair advantage of his deceptively strong build and grinning at Drift’s indignant reaction.

Once properly inside both of them stopped dead, all amorous intentions put on hold as they stared at the furnishings. The door slid shut behind them and locked with a polite chirp. As if the sound was some sort of cue they both spoke at once.

“Um…”

“Woah.”

Silence fell as the Cybertronians tried to wrap their processors around the surprisingly large room that confronted them; taking in the tasteful decorations, Cybertronian-sized appointments and what appeared to be genuine synth-fibre carpet covering the floor. While Ratchet seemed to be a little concerned by the situation Drift was simply stunned, excitement coiling low in his abdomen as he took in the berth –no, the _bed_ \- the room was equipped with.

Because it was a _proper_ bed, not one of the normal slab-like berths Drift had expected.

An _actual_ bed, the mattress resting on a solid base that looked strong enough to support both of them with no trouble at all. It was outfitted with a mound of pillows and several layers of blankets that were obviously supposed to cover them both as they recharged. The material of those bedcovers was easily recognisable as some the durable, luxurious synthetics this part of the galaxy specialised in. A shiver of anticipation ran through Drift as he tried to imagine what it would feel like against his armour. He devoured it all with his optics, nearly trembling with anticipation as his processor raced. Some of the booking questions about their physiological requirements suddenly made more sense, besides basic requirements like specific atmospheric gases and whether or not they required external power sources to aid recharge.

_That’s right; some tech-based species can’t remove their armour, like Earth turtles or something. Oh slag that bed looks_ good!

“I think they made a mistake.” Ratchet observed, Field surging with trepidation as he untangled it from where it had been woven with Drifts. “That _was_ our room number on the door, right?”

“I think this is _perfect_.” Drift said, flooding his Field with eagerness and reassurance, reaching out to the medic. “Besides, I’m fairly sure that when I booked, reception said this was the last room available for mechs our size.” Reluctantly, Drift tore his optics from the bed and looked at Ratchet. “Um, did you want me to check and see if we can change?”

“No, you’re right about them being booked out.” The medic said with a sigh, striding over to the bed and carefully testing the give of the industrial-strength mattress. “I’m just worried about the effect of armour on all this. It _looks_ tough enough but there’s no way it could stand up to the way you thrash around sometimes.”

Ratchet’s tone and subglyphs made it obvious that Ratchet wasn’t talking about vigorous movement during interfacing. The veiled reference to Drift’s nightmares –that came less frequently now that they shared a berth- was unwelcome, but he had to admit that Ratchet did have a point. Sighing, Drift chewed on his lower lip as he considered their predicament.

He didn’t feel like recharging on the floor, especially not with that glorious bed right there practically begging him to sprawl across its surface. He also most definitely did _not_ want to lose the chance to recharge next to Ratchet while wrapped in those gorgeous, silky-looking bedcovers.

Sleeping on the floor would also undo a lot of the good those oilbaths had done for Ratchet’s joints, putting the ambulance back at square one. Ratchet was obviously thinking the same thing, because he grabbed the top layers of bedding and began to pull, stripping the bed with resignation written all over his face. A pulse of regret passed through the ambulance’s Field as his fingers flexed, subconsciously stroking the fabric. That little motion was all Drift needed to make up his mind.

_I know he just went wading but we’re still more than clean enough…_

“Well, if it’s a choice between armour and a nice bed I know which one I’m choosing.” Drift declared, speaking before he was even fully aware of having made a decision. “I’m _not_ passing on a bed this nice.”

He moved around the bed and detached his weapons with quick, efficient movements, stacking the blades along the wall. Then Drift took a deep ventilation and began to unlatch and remove his armour, hoping Ratchet didn’t see the way his fingers fumbled ever-so-slightly with the clasps. Everything went neatly beside the bed, all of it within easy reach of his hands if something went wrong. Drift removed everything except his helm and the smaller plates over his hands and pedes, initiating a transformation sequence that sent most of the heavy war-grade plating to subspace, leaving only minimal protection behind. Air currents slid over rarely-touched sensors, highlighting just how vulnerable the swordsmech now was and forcing him to offline his vocaliser before an embarrassing little whimper could escape.

It had been uncommon to go without armour even before the war; something usually done only for ceremonial reasons. Drift had never had a chance to do this before, not even when he and Gasket and broken into that spa. During the war he hadn’t removed a single piece of his armour unless it had been medically necessary; even in New Crystal City he’d only ever removed one or two pieces at a time, and then only around mechs he’d seriously trusted. It was extremely difficult for Drift to put those last pieces of armour down and turn towards Ratchet, less protected now than he had been at any time since his Sparking.

Swallowing a rush of nervousness, Drift dove into the bed and hid himself under the covers before Ratchet could see too much of the scars patterning his protoform.

A moan of pure sensual bliss burst from Drift’s vocaliser at the slide of soft fabric over exposed protoform. Sensors unused to touch seemed to register every single fiber of the sheets for a moment before they settled down, overriding everything else and sending all of the swordsmech’s concerns about his scars and current vulnerability straight into deletion.

Drift just couldn’t resist the urge to indulge himself in a full-frame wriggle, humming with delight as the fabric slid over his protoform again, overwhelming him with the sheer luxury of it. Ratchet’s EM Field brought him back to reality; raw astonishment accompanied by shocked arousal washing over his sensors accompanied by the sound of the medic’s strong engine thrumming away. Reluctantly emerging from under the blankets, Drift brought his optics back online and smiled up at the mech standing beside the bed.

It took two tries for Drift to get his vocaliser to work.

“Come on in, Ratchet.” His voice emerged lower than he intended; edged with static that turned it into a husky purr. “The water’s fine.”

 

## ~V~V~V~

 

Ratchet didn’t know what he’d expected when Drift started removing his weapons, but it certainly wasn’t _this_.

His jaw dropped when the speedster started de-armouring as casually as if they did this sort of thing every day, baring his protoform and substructure without hesitation. It was _incredibly_ intimate. He didn’t miss the shiver of apprehension in Drift’s Field as he removed the last piece of armour. This was an immense display of trust and something Ratchet had _never_ expected Drift to be comfortable doing.

... Not that Ratchet had ever done this himself.

The excess mass of Drift’s helm, kibble and the smaller armour plates he didn’t remove all slid smoothly into subspace, leaving the mech with dark patches on forearms and thighs where his wheels had been and a delicate, sculpted look to the remaining plating on his hands and helm that stopped the air in Ratchet’s vents.

Drift in nothing but his protoform was the epitome of compact strength and implied speed; from the delicate blades of his audial flares to his sensor-laden pedes the speedster was the nearest thing to a living work of art Ratchet had ever seen. The heavy network of scars patterning Drift’s dermal layer didn’t from his sheer beauty of form in the slightest. Ratchet’s hands tightened on the bedcoverings as Drift spun in place and leapt onto the bed to slide under the blankets with a delicious vocalisation that went right to Ratchet's spike.

A loud rev from the speedster’s engine easily covered the medic's soft whine of disappointment as Drift vanished from sight, proceeding to wriggle and purr with sensual delight for the longest minute of Ratchet’s life. When Drift finally emerged from hiding he turned brilliant optics on Ratchet, inviting him to strip off and join him in the sultriest voice the medic had ever heard.

Moving as if in a dream, Ratchet gladly obeyed.

He relaxed his death-grip on the blankets and straightened up, fingers moving without hesitation to the first set of clasps. Holding the speedsters’ optics, Ratchet began to remove his own armour, deliberately turning the process into a kind of erotic strip-tease. With each plate removed Ratchet exposed more of his delicate substructure to one of the most deadly and feared warriors in the galaxy.

It never even occurred to him to feel afraid.

Drift’s optics were fixed on Ratchet’s red-plated hands as they slid over his sturdy frame, releasing catches to remove thick armour plates with teasing slowness or whip them off so fast they seemed to vanish into thin air. He revelled in every nuance of Drift’s reactions, drawing it out as long as he could, completely unconcerned about his own collection of scars. What he looked like didn’t matter, all that mattered to Ratchet was the expression on the speedster’s faceplates and the way his hands flexed, visibly restraining the urge to reach out and _touch_.

By the time Ratchet was folding what armour he couldn’t remove into subspace Drift was actually _shaking_ , Field filled with desperate longing and a kind of wonder that felt dangerously close to reverence. Flushing with embarrassment, Ratchet lifted the blankets slid in beside the speedster, suddenly understanding Drift’s enthusiastic reaction to the bed.

It was absolutely _sublime_.

Smooth, tough fabric slipped over every inch of Ratchet’s exposed protoform, caressing his dermal sensors tantalisingly. He was barely aware of some appreciative sound slipping from his vocaliser and the way Drift squirmed closer, simply savouring the pleasant tingles skittering through his systems until callused fingers skimmed gently across his cheekplates and Drift pulled him into a kiss.

It was gentle, Drift moving as tentatively as if they hadn’t just spent a great deal of the last two months snogging each other senseless. Ratchet surrendered to the sweetness in it, following Drift’s lead with lips and glossa and careful fingertips that trailed down the swordsmech’s throat cables to begin exploring new territory, the scar-textured curves and planes of protoform he’d just seen for the first time.

That was all it took to ignite something inside Drift. He moved to cover Ratchet’s frame with his own, fierce and tender as he kissed, stroked and even licked at the medic’s frame until Ratchet’s own explorations brushed across something that made Drift growl. The speedster lifted his head from where he had been engaged in teasing the opaque covers of Ratchet’s thoracic diagnostic sensors to glare at the medic with optics darkened by lust.

“Stop _doing_ that.” Drift grumbled, tone at odds with the desire surging in his Field as he grabbed Ratchet by the wrists, pulling the medic’s hands off his frame and pinning them to the mattress.

“Doing _what?_ ” Ratchet demanded, glaring up at the too-serious expression on Drift’s faceplates.

“ _Anything_. You’re distracting me.” Drift growled right back, revving his engine. “What _you_ need to do is learn how to fragging _relax_ for more than thirty seconds at a time.” He guided Ratchet’s hands up to pull a pillow beneath the medic’s helm and carefully wrapped the sensitive red-plated fingers around it. “All I want you to do right now is hold on to that pillow and _enjoy_ , alright?”

“Can I _vent?_ ” Ratchet challenged, annoyed that his explorations had been interrupted.

_I’ll get him back for this. Later._

“ _Certainly_.” Drift purred, his smile predatory in a way that made Ratchet’s Spark burn hotter in his chest. “You can also scream my name if you want; I did get us a soundproofed room.”

Any response Ratchet would have made was driven from his processor as Drift returned to licking his way over the thin protective layer concealing the extremely sensitive diagnostic instruments hidden in his chest. Obediently, Ratchet kept his fingers buried in the pillow but that was as far as his ability to stay still extended as Drift stroked and kissed every single inch of his protoform.

Drift’s Field bathed Ratchet in emotions he could barely put names to. Love so strong he could barely comprehend that it was directed at him, a sense of absolute safety and contentment, it all flowed over him, originating from the speedster who was anything _but_ fast as he worshipped Ratchet’s frame with the utmost thoroughness, monitoring his reactions to figure out what pleased Ratchet the most, patiently reducing the ambulance to a mindless, pleasure-drenched state where all he could do was thrash and try not to be _too_ loud in his appreciation, just in case Drift had been joking about the soundproofing.

“Wh-what are you _do_ ing?” Ratchet gasped after what felt like hours, his vocaliser stuttering over the glyphs as Drift’s glossa outlined abdominal biolights that were usually hidden by his armour. “Drift, _please!_ ”

Amusement joined the other emotions in Drift’s Field.

Two strong hands gripped Ratchet’s hips, keeping them still as that glossa licked over Ratchet's closed interfacing array.

“I’m going _slowly_.” Drift murmured against the thin metal of Ratchet’s secondary spike cover. The gentle brush of his lipplates was _maddening_. “Showing you that I _can_ go slow.”

“Fragging trying to _kill_ me, more like.” Deprived of all other forms of retaliation Ratchet got revenge the only way he could as Drift kissed and nibbled his way around the seams of his inner thighs, projecting desperation and trying to goad the swordsmech into action with his words. “Holding me down and licking me all over like this, you’re gonna tease me to _death_ before you get anywhere _near_ actually fragging me.”

By now the speedster’s mouth was over Ratchet’s valve, the secondary covers twitching as Ratchet perversely tried to keep them closed. Each cancelled attempt to open created a minute gap for lubricant to escape and Drift deliberately blew air across the trickles of moisture to chill them before he swiped his glossa across the medic’s valve covers in one broad, firm stroke.

That was all it took for Ratchet to lose the fight to keep his covers closed, shouting and bucking up to press his suddenly bared folds into Drift’s face. He felt a half-second of guilt before Drift’s ecstatic Field washed over him, erasing it with the feel of _**victory/yes/mine**_. The swordsmech shifted his hands, holding Ratchet’s valve up to his face and diving into the task of lapping at it with so much enthusiasm Ratchet wondered briefly if he had glitched or possibly died and gone to the Well.

Then all coherent thought fled as Drift did _something_ with his glossa that sent white fire surging through his circuits and all Ratchet could do was dig his fingers into the pillow and scream the speedster’s designation as overload finally rolled through him.

 

## ~V~V~V~

 

Drift _loved_ the way Ratchet’s Field unravelled during overload.

Hi Spark expanded in response, feeling too big to be contained by his frame as the medic’s Field washed over him in uncontrolled surges, communicating his release and trying to pull Drift with him. He basked in the sensation as he fit his lipplates to the wildly spasming entrance of Ratchet’s valve, trying to capture as much of the emerging lubricant as he could.

_Don’t want to make_ too _much of a mess this early in the day_.

Drift couldn’t help the way his own spike had pressurised in response to Ratchet’s pleasure, although his valve cover remained tightly closed. Carefully nuzzling at one of the medic’s two major external sensory nubs with his nasal ridge, Drift rocked his hips, pressing his spike into the mattress as he brought Ratchet through his overload and eased him down the other side. The Field boiling against his was almost enough to overload him by itself and Drift vented deeply, grounding himself in the face of his lover’s fulfilment.

It was getting harder for him to concentrate on what he was doing; the sensation of smooth fabric against his aching spike distracting him from what he was doing with his mouth. Regretfully, Drift shelved his original plans, knowing he wouldn’t last long if he kept humping the bedsheets while Ratchet's Field foamed against his. And he wanted to overload inside Ratchet.

The first time, at least.

Slithering up the medic’s frame, Drift leaned most of his weight on one arm and took his spike in his free hand, gently teasing at the entrance of Ratchet’s valve with the head. Suddenly strong legs were wrapping around his waist, flexing and pulling Drift forward so quickly his hand got jammed briefly in the press of their pelvic sections before he whipped it away and swore at Ratchet. The ambulance’s optics glowed and he started laughing, a free and joyous sound that made Drift’s Spark soar.

“What did I say before, huh?” Drift asked, voice and Field filled with teasing affection as he began to thrust shallowly, feeling the slick slide of Ratchet’s passage around him and the delicious caress of callipers squeezing his shaft. “What did I say about leaving the work to me?”

“I don’t remember.” Ratchet was completely unrepentant, rolling his hips into Drift's movements. “That overload must have wiped my short-term cache.”

He didn’t dignify that with an immediate response, kissing Ratchet to shut him up while he struggled to think. The smooth, sensual brush of protoform against protoform as they moved together fed Drift’s arousal, his charge growing faster than it ever had before in his life. His pace increased slowly, moving deeper with each stroke, pressing closer to his lover. Fragmented sounds of pleasure escaped his vocaliser to mingle with Ratchet’s deeper moans. The blankets slid down Drift’s back as Ratchet undulated against his front, stroking a blaze of sensation from the rarely-used tactile sensors of his dermal layer.

It was getting harder to concentrate, harder for Drift to keep his movements slow and smooth when all his frame wanted to do was drive the medic into his next overload as soon as possible and follow him into ecstasy. In an effort to draw this out Drift broke the kiss and slowed his thrusts, using them to punctuate his words as he fought for self-control.

“You,” Thrust _._  “Are _terrible_.” _Thrust_. “An _appalling_ influence.” _Thrust_.

“That- doesn’t sound like a complaint to me.” Ratchet said with a truly wicked grin, rippling his valve around Drift’s spike, squeezing and massaging the length as he started weaving his Field as deeply into the speedsters’ as was possible.

“Oh _Primus_ no, not complaining.” Drift gasped, matching Ratchet's EM manipulations as best he could. “J-just stating facts.”

Ratchet’s low reply was lost as Drift’s EM sensors suddenly surged to life; Ratchet’s Field enveloping him in a cocoon of happiness and affection so strong it could only be called _love_ that undid all of his self-control as if it had never existed. He captured Ratchet’s mouth in a fierce kiss, feeling the medic’s limbs wind around him as his hips jerked _hard._ Once, twice and then Drift was overloading, keening Ratchet’s designation as liquid lightning flowed through his circuits.

When the haze of overload finally released Drift he could still feel aftershocks rippling through both of them, communicated by their almost perfectly synchronised Fields. Slowly he became aware that he was still collapsed atop Ratchet, the medic’s arms wrapped securely around him.

They were impossibly close; Drift could feel how their Sparkchambers aligned perfectly despite their slight size disparity, how their legs were tangled together in a way that would have been impossible with armour on and the slow exhalation of Ratchet’s vents ghosting over his protoform. Worried that he was somehow crushing the sturdily-built ambulance, Drift tried to move and felt Ratchet’s arms tighten around him, Field bristling petulantly.

“Stay here?” The medic mumbled, sounding like he was either half in recharge or too relaxed to speak properly. “’S nice. Cosy.”

Drift’s response was to settle back down, tuck his head under Ratchet’s chin and melt into the embrace, happy beyond words.

After everything that had happened, he _finally_ had this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done!  
> Notanevilmastermind, it was a pleasure writing for you! I hope you enjoyed the results ^.^


End file.
